


better to feel nothing than to feel bad

by tyrium



Category: Football RPF
Genre: F/M, M/M, TW: Drug Abuse, basically angst compressed into words, worried lovren
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-16 21:17:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15446055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyrium/pseuds/tyrium
Summary: Šime wasn't being himself lately and Dejan desperately wants to help his friend, only to discover the dreadful thing that is tearing his friend apart by the seams.





	better to feel nothing than to feel bad

Sitting with him at the breakfast table wasn’t the same as it was a month ago. There were no warm smiles, soft touches, shoulder taps and lighthearted hugs. It seemed as if the Šime Dejan knew was replaced with nothing but a ghost of what his enthusiastic friend once was. It was even worse that Dejan could do nothing to help him, as Šime actively insisted that he was completely fine and that there was no reason to worry about him. The denial was obvious in his eyes and his slouched body and shaking hands was crying out for help, but his mind and tongue would not falter under his own burden, for it is only just that he suffers while proving himself to be a vile beast. Yet his voice betrayed that not even he himself believed what he was saying. 

They sat in their usual spot next to the window and were silently chewing on their breakfast toasts, relishing the time before they had to go back to their rooms and spend the entire day alone. Except that Šime looked as if he was chewing concrete rather than the soft, buttery, bread Dejan had brought him. As Šime was dolefully eating his breakfast his free hand was playing with loose threads that stuck out from his shirt. While doing so Dejan couldn’t help but notice how unprecise and shaky his tattooed fingers were moving, unable to capture a piece of thread for longer than a few seconds, letting it slip back to its original place after tiring from the seemingly impossible task, leaving it for the better and dedicating himself to tearing a chunk of toast from his enormous pile. Dejan didn’t joke around when it came to nutrition. Little did he know that for every bite Šime took he felt one step closer to barfing on the table. Maybe he should excuse himself and go to the toilet to get rid of the extra fiber occupying his insides. After all it wouldn’t make much of a difference if he was running on empty or not, all he needed to survive today was another shot.

Dejan was extremely worried about his friend. It was obvious to him that something was not as it is supposed to be when it came to Šime. His late behavior was suspiciously aloof, for someone who was usually the cheeriest and most sociable person on the team. It had all started when they qualified for the world cup. During the qualifications their friendship was blossoming and growing into something that Dejan was so very fond of, he knew nothing to compare to this warm and fulfilling feeling that spread in his chest whenever Šime called for him or they shared another tender moment. Being with Šime had made Dejan feel so inexplicably happy. He hadn’t felt this way since he was newly married, but he hoped that the luck he found in his friend would last longer than that he found in his ex-wife. It seemed to Dejan that every little moment spent with his teammate was so precious he would never forget it. Their silly pictures, live-broadcasts and late-night talks were becoming his new source of happiness and inspiration. They were sharing beds, shirts, and secrets, playing hide and seek on their hotel floor during the hours of the deep dark night, giggling like little children, trying not to wake anyone. Most of the time they succeeded but one night they faced a sleep-deprived Luka who was everything other than pleased to be woken at such a late hour. Though he was angry the grudge didn’t last long and soon Dejan and Šime were back on their old behavior. Even thinking about these times brought a faint smile to Dejan’s lips. A memory he was especially fond of was the night before they parted for a while before travelling to Russia for the world cup.

After the game Šime and Dejan went back to their room, practically running down the hallway and jumping like excitable puppies, so giddy that they could barely contain their shouts of joy. It never occurred to them that it was past 11 P.M., that they forgot their stuff on the pitch, or that people were trying to sleep, all that mattered to them was right now. The kicked the door open and jumped up and down in a sort of half-embrace, kicking and slipping, yet they ended up in a full embrace, clinging onto the other’s body, breathing heavily, and smiling against shoulders. Dejan could feel Šime’s heartbeat beating against his chest, thumping heavily. He could feel Šime’s moustache scratching his cheek. He could feel Šime’s breath. But he felt his own heart fill with love and joy. They still held each other like this for a few moments until Dejan pressed his forehead to Šime’s laughing hysterically, clinging onto his shoulder for dear life, just enjoying the little happiness he got. Soon he reached up and planted a firm kiss on Šime’s forehead and hugged him once again. 

It was painful to let go, but Dejan worried that Šime might mistake his affection for something that it was not. He would never in his life want that his sunshine felt repulsed by him. Dejan wanted to take his phone out of his pocket when the realization hit him that they had left their things on the pitch near the hotel. “Goddamnit, Šime! Our things!” Dejan exclaimed in a half laugh, half cry. Šime’s eyes went wide in shock, yet he flashed a toothy grin, unbothered, almost. “What does it matter?” Šime asked, Dejan wasn’t sure whether he was being sarcastic or not. “What does it matter?” Dejan laughed “We have to get them!” he said dumbstruck with a slight undertone of amusement. Off they went, dashing though the hotel corridors with nothing but a shirt and pants, as they had discarded their shoes earlier. Their feet were hitting the soft carpeted floors, and, in that very moment, it was only the two of them, running to secure their personal belongings, not caring what it must have looked like to see two grown men chase down a hallway, laughing like toddlers in daycare. 

They were skipping down the cold and slightly wet pavement hand in hand, fully aware what it must’ve looked like, yet they didn’t care much because it made them happy. And if it made them happy, why stop? 

Šime’s hand fit perfectly against Dejan’s, slotting together like two pieces of machinery built to be next to each other. The warmth from his hand spread through his whole body like a wildfire and made Dejan feel warm inside and out, so warm that he didn’t even care that his feet were starting to become ice blocks. Šime drew tiny circles on the back of Dejan’s hand with his thumb and Dejan hummed in response, clearly enjoying the affectionate gesture. Their fingers were intertwined and none of them wanted this moment to end. Sadly, once they arrived at the pitch the search for their personal belongings started and they had to let go. It didn’t take long until they discovered them, still on the bench where they left them. They put the bags down on the ground and started putting on their shoes when Šime noticed that his phone was missing. Out of the corner of his eye Dejan saw the streetlight being reflected off of a small device he assumed was Šime’s phone. Dejan found Šime’s phone on the floor and picked it up, briefly blowing off the dirt that had gathered on it, making his way back to where his friend was standing. Šime was looking at him so Dejan stared back, relishing the sight of Šime’s hazel wood-colored eyes, while stepping closer, not breaking eye contact. 

He reached out to give Šime his phone but instead he gently put his hand on Šime’s forearm and stepped closer. They were in such close proximity, gazing into each other’s eyes, Šime’s hand on Dejan’s waist, both of them smiling faintly. Šime started pulling Dejan closer but suddenly an old man’s harsh voice broke them apart. “What the hell are you doing out this late? It’s past midnight you fools! I want to close this field so get the hell out!” he barked at them. Dejan shot Šime an embarrassed look while scratching his head and mumbling some apology, picking up their things and rushing out into the lifeless street.

At first nobody said anything, still in shock from what had happened. Dejan was wondering if it was the man that made his heart beat rapidly, even minutes after the incident, or the fact that he might have kissed his friend back there, if it weren’t for the guard who told them to leave. He was brought back to reality by a soft whisper of Šime’s voice. “I’m sorry for what happened. If I hadn’t been so foolish and forgotten our stuff this wouldn’t have happened.” But Dejan was quick to reassure him. “It’s not your fault. I could have remembered as well, and hey it didn’t even go that bad, if it weren’t for that jebenog jarca we might have gotten away smoothly.” he said smiling at his friend and rubbing his back comfortingly. And so, they wandered the dimly lit streets arm in arm, enjoying the comfortable silence that had settled over them. Once they reached their hotel again they made their way up to their shared room, only to crawl into their bed, fatigued and weary, to seek the sweet relief of sleep which they found lying next to each other, entangled in a loose embrace. 

They parted ways at the airport, Šime heading for Madrid and Dejan for Liverpool. “Make sure you don’t forget my pretty face over the next 7 months.” Dejan joked. “How could I forget the magnificent face of the one and only Dejan Lovren?” Šime responded, flashing a grin. Dejan smiled at his remark and pulled him into a tight hug. Before he headed for his gate he gave Šime a kiss on the cheek and slapped him on the other one, for good measure. Then he turned around and went. 

During these months they texted and facetimed, always stayed in touch, yet when they met again in June, Šime had changed. His appearance was pretty much the same, but his behavior had changed drastically. He was no longer overflowing with joy and he only smiled on rare occasions, even then his smiled didn’t reach his eyes or fill Dejan’s heart with delight. He was no longer reaching out for touches and even flinched when Dejan tried to initiate a hug. It didn’t seem too bad at first, but after Šime had requested a room to himself, Dejan’s heart shattered. Was he no longer good enough for his friend? Was he pressuring Šime? Or worse making him uncomfortable with his presence? He desperately needed to know but Šime knew how to avoid someone if he needed to, and thus they only saw each other during breakfast and training, engaging in half-hearted conversations. Dejan tried to reach out to Šime but his room was locked and he nowhere to be found. 

Everybody noticed the change in Dejan’s and Šime’s relationship, yet nobody was close enough to Šime to unravel what has been troubling him, so they had to comfort a devastated Dejan more times than they wished to. Seeing their friend so unhappy made the other players unhappy as well. 

So here they were, sitting alone at a breakfast table, chewing on their toasts in silence. Dejan was watching his dark-haired friend gaze absently at his dirtied shoes, desperately trying to think of a way to reach out to him. “How can I talk to him”, “Why has he been avoiding me?”, “Why is he unable to focus on anything?” an increasing number of questions flooded Dejan’s mind, and since they had today off he decided that he would visit Šime in his room after breakfast.  
After Šime had left prematurely, _again _, Dejan sat at his table alone, surrounded by people who were laughing and enjoying themselves and, oh, how he wished that Šime would return to him again, that they could be as they were before, content, and loving, how he wished to hug Šime once more. He sat in his seat until he could no longer stand it and left the dining hall for good, after all he wasn’t even hungry. So, he made his way back to his room to think of a strategy on how to catch Šime. He couldn’t bear it to be turned down another time by a man he considered so close to himself. Not again. He loved his friend so very dearly that the mere thought of having to live without him made tears well up in Dejan’s eyes. He needed Šime back, desperately, and if he couldn’t get him back he’d die trying.__

____

Building up the courage to knock on Šime’s door was harder than Dejan had imagined it could possibly be. He was the confident Dejan Lovren, yet he was afraid to knock on his best friend’s door. Climbing the stairs to the floor above was already exhausting as it is but the additional weight of having to face Šime in a private room was too much for his feeble heart to take. This felt worse than having to see Anita again after months of being separated from her. In fact, facing Anita was much easier, Anita cheated on him and he knew what happened, but what was going on in Šime’s head was a mystery to Dejan and he couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that his best friend could turn him down so easily. They were supposed to be the dream team, yet they rarely saw each other and when they did it was forced and joyless. Dejan was determined to change that. He couldn’t go on living like that, he needed to know Šime’s heart and feelings like he needed to breathe air or like the birds need to fly. It was almost like an instinct to him to look out and care for his friend. So, he found the courage he needed and knocked twice on the frail wooden hotel door with the number 1318. 

Unsurprisingly, his knock went unanswered. He knocked again and put on his best hotel employee voice. “Fresh towels, Sir!” after that the door was opened by a disheveled and dreary Šime whose eyes went wide at the sight of Dejan. Before he could slam the door, Dejan put a foot in the doorframe and asked with the tiniest voice “Can I talk to you?” he didn’t dare look his friend in the eye, but he noticed that Šime nodded and stepped aside. Dejan was welcomed into what the thought was the messiest room he had seen since his children went to live with their mother. Clothes were scattered on the floor, shoes on the bed and surprisingly a pack of cigarettes on the nightstand. Athletes didn’t normally smoke. All of these were warning signs and Dejan knew he ventured into dangerous territory. Behind him the door fell into its frame with an obnoxious squeak and Šime plopped down on his bed, seemingly exhausted. What was he doing in the night? Dejan went to the window and opened it, letting the fresh breeze clean out the stale and somewhat mysterious smell that occupied the small room. He thought he heard Šime shiver. And indeed, he was. It was June, and there was no apparent reason to shiver in June. With every passing second Dejan grew more concerned, letting his eyes roam over the crammed shelves and discarded objects of cloth. He didn’t know what to say or how to begin but he was afraid that if he waited too long Šime would ask him to leave or the moment to initiate a conversation would sneak past him. He turned to the window, gazing onto the city beneath it. Thus, Dejan said “I miss you.” it was the most he could get out of his constricting throat, and it was true. In fact, he had never missed anyone as much as he had missed spending time with his friend. He felt a single tear leave out of the corner of his eye, making its way down his cheek and falling onto the carpet. leaving a damp spot behind. Damnit, he wouldn’t cry, not now, not here, he needed to be strong. However, he had never felt as vulnerable in his life than right now, he wanted to hold him and tell him to come back, that they could fix whatever happened, but nothing could have prepared him for the reaction he received from Šime. 

“You don’t mean that.” he mumbled through a sniff. Dejan couldn’t believe what he had just heard. How could he not- he felt his throat constricting further but he tried to look collected at least. “How could I not mean it?” Dejan replied with a sorrowful, almost miserable, tone, trying to keep his voice from breaking. His shaky voice cut through Šime’s bones and gave him chills. He had never heard Dejan speak in this kind of tone before.

Dejan didn’t dare to look Šime in the eyes, afraid he’ll burst out in tears at the mere sight of his friend’s face. But he had to, so he looked up and saw a person that wasn’t looking like Šime at all. He had dark circles under his eyes, hollow cheeks, and bloodshot eyes. His hair was a mess, sticking up in all kinds of places, only vaguely resembling the hairstyle Šime used to wear. His coal hair was looking flat, lifeless, so very weak, like Šime himself. Furthermore, his beard was unkempt and starting to look more like a full beard than his signature moustache. The sight made more tears come to Dejan’s face, but luckily, he could suppress them before Šime saw his façade crumble before his very own eyes. What was once a lively and bright human, was now the equivalent of a candle about to burn out. Dejan continued, “You’re one of my best friends, and you ask how I could miss you?” his voice was still too shaky for his own liking. He was determined to not falter under Šime’s gaze. “I miss you all the time, even when you’re present you’re far away. I can't bear this anymore. Talk to me.” Dejan begged. “Please.” 

And, oh, how Šime’s heart sank when he heard the soft plea of his friend. He was on the brink of tears, fighting them with all he had in himself, but there was so little left, he needed his friends support even though he hated himself for crawling back to the man he so desperately needed to stay away from, for both their sakes. But right now, that didn’t matter, nothing mattered, it was all for nothing after all. He decided he couldn’t stay away any longer. He gestured to the bed, for Dejan to sit down, and he complied within milliseconds. 

The bed was soft, like Dejan had imagined. It almost felt like the bed they shared back when they were still trying to qualify for the world cup. He stretched out his hand to touch the top-sheet spread over the unmade bed. The top-sheet was currently more interesting than the fact that he was _finally _sitting on Šime’s bed. He even had the chance to talk to him, still it felt as if all the words Dejan knew were wiped from his brain, so he sat there in silence, eyeing the ivory sheet, thinking of what to say. He had imagined this moment so many times, imagined so many outcomes, yet when the moment arrived he knew not what to do. Which words could capture Dejan’s feelings best? His despair and hopelessness? Or the satisfaction that he could find out what has been going on in his friend’s head? What can you say to a man you simultaneously want to kiss and punch?__

____

____

Neither of them made any efforts to break the silence that had settled over the room, both afraid that they’ll say the wrong words. Dejan turned to face Šime. Whatever it was that has happened between them had to be put out of this world. Gathering his courage, he lift his gaze to find Šime’s bleary eyes. He licked his lips and started speaking. 

“Listen, Šime” speaking his friend’s name with as much compassion as he could muster up. “I don’t know what I did but whatever it was I want to apologize. I would never want to hurt you, you’re my best friend.” Šime grimaced at Dejan’s choice of words. “We can fix this, please.” Dejan pleaded once again at which Šime scoffed. 

“Oh, please you did nothing wrong,” Šime said, with an unsteady voice, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. “It’s me. You don’t want a person like me around.” he said with such a finality in his tone that it physically hurt Dejan. How could he say that? And what could he possibly mean by that?  
Šime looked away, putting a hand in the crook of his elbow to comfort himself. Dejan noticed this, he also noticed the bruised skin that surrounded the tender skin. Not just bruises, but also little dark dots. But- was it really what Dejan thought it was? It couldn’t be. Not Šime. He would never. Or? Before saying anything, Dejan continued.

“What do you mean?” he asked. Šime obviously wasn’t expecting this kind of question. He looked as if he struggled to comprehend what Dejan was asking of him. What should he even say without giving away the secret he so desperately tried to keep private? Considering his mental state, he would say anything only to deflect Dejan’s attention off of him. Unfortunately, it was a bit too late for that now. What was the simplest answer? But did he really want to keep Dejan out? He needed him, if he wanted to admit it or not, so how could he break the truth to him, without causing too much drama? In the end Šime decided just to keep on being vague, as it was enough of an answer. “I’m just not worth your time, Dejane. Believe me. I’m despicable and you might not see it,” Šime took a deep breath “but once you do, well then, just- “this was too hard for Šime’s liking “it's just not worth your time. Move on Dejo, it's for the best.” saying these words was hard enough as it was, without having a heartbroken Dejan Lovren staring at you with glassy, deep brown, eyes. 

The sight made Šime’s own eyes water to the point where it was hard to fight back the tears threatening to spill from his eyes, but crying now would only mean that he wasn’t, in fact, alright. He drew his hands to himself and crossed them in front of his chest, like a child might when confronted by a parent. God, he shouldn’t have worn a t-shirt today, he might just expose his secret without saying a word. 

Dejan sniffed, trying to keep calm in the face of rejection. Should he ask him? Talking to Šime wasn’t exactly easy when he was so defensive and dismissive. He was afraid that words might not do the trick, so he reached out to touch Šime’s shoulder and gently placed his hand on it, careful not to overstep his boundaries. Šime wasn’t flinching away or trying to escape which Dejan interpreted as a signal to continue. He gazed at Šime’s eyes, determined yet compassionate, and directed a question at him, in the softest, most tender tone he could produce. “May I see your arm?”

The hand on his shoulder surprised Šime, but after all this time he craved Dejan’s touch. He practically melted into his palm. However, the question he was asked caught him off-guard. So Dejan noticed. What did it matter? He suspected it, so Šime might as well show it to him. He carefully put his hand forward, which Dejan took into his own, carefully stretching Šime’s arm. To hold his hand again was too much for Šime, making tears flow down his pale cheeks, but more was to come. Dejan eyed the crook of his elbow carefully, examining it like a doctor, slowly, respectfully. 

Dejan was right, Šime had been taking drugs. Dejan didn’t know how to handle the situation. His first thought was to comfort Šime, who was now crying, thick tears streaming down his face, noiseless, convulsive sobs shaking his body, raven hair plastered to his face. Dejan did what he always did when Šime wasn’t feeling alright. He pulled his devastated friend into a tight hug, pulling him close, to shelter him from everything bad in the world. This, in return, only made Šime cry harder, clinging onto Dejan’s torso. He put his head on Dejan’s shoulder, balling his shirt up in his shaking fists. There was no denying now, he could let it all out, and he did. He wept, sobbed, sniveled, and sniffled, all safe in his _friend’s _arms.__

____

____

Dejan held Šime as long as he needed it. While he was crying his heart out in Dejan’s arms he put a comforting hand on the back of Šime’s head. Dejan drew small circles on his friend’s back, while he put his cheek on Šime’s head, trying to console as much as he could. Maybe he wasn’t there for Šime when this started but from now on he would never leave his side again. He softly cooed in his ear “Shush, it's gonna be alright. Don’t worry.” They would get through this _together _. Still Dejan didn’t understand how this all started, there must’ve been a good reason. When he felt Šime’s sobs die down, he once again, like in the good old times, put a small kiss onto his head. He felt Šime pull away slowly. Dejan wiped away the tears that resided under Šime’s eyes with his thumb and looked into his eyes, smiling softly.__

____

____

Šime wasn’t proud of himself to fall back into what he was trying to avoid, but he’d be damned if he didn’t admit that it felt good to be back with Dejan. He was thankful for the warmth and comfort Dejan gave to him, even though he didn’t deserve it for what he has done to him. But Dejan was so warm-natured and caring, lovely in all aspects and Šime admired him so much for it. He never let the world break him. Šime croaked “I’m sorry about your shirt, I – I didn’t mean to ruin it.” while trying to brush away the wetness that had settled in Dejan’s shirt. “Nothing to worry about, I’ll get a new one.” said Dejan.

Nonetheless, Šime dreaded the conversation that was about to take place. But the prospect of Dejan’s warm eyes gave him the confidence he needed to confide in his friend again. Dejan reached out for Šime’s hand and placed it cautiously in his own. He cleared his throat and carefully asked “Do you want to tell me about it?” Šime nodded firmly in return. It was time to come clean. 

He didn’t know where to begin. Where did one story end and the other one begin? He supposed it all started when they parted at the airport. The time he spent with Dejan gave him all kinds of feelings, mostly positive ones, yet the evening before they left uncovered something in Šime that was hidden in the darkest depths of his soul. He couldn’t put his finger on it, at first. Soon he discovered that the feelings he harbored in his heart were of romantic nature. He had romantic feelings for his best friend. How do you handle such a discovery? Especially when you come from a place that is conservative and neither tolerant nor especially LGBT+ friendly.

Šime cleared his throat. God this was tougher than he had imagined. He had spoken this sentence so many times in his head, so why was it that hard to say it aloud? “It had started when I went back to Croatia for the holidays, shortly before the world cup. I went to my family home, met my parents, relatives, friends and everyone in-between.” Šime sniffed, wiping away the residue tears. He felt close to crying again but holding Dejan’s hand gave him strength. He could do it. “I had recently made a shocking discovery about myself and I didn’t know what to do. I was struggling with my newly found identity, it gave me head- and heartaches, sleepless nights and terrible thoughts.” Dejan wasn’t sure was Šime was referring to but his listened nonetheless. “I decided to confide in my wife. She has always been there for me and I figured that she would understand and help.” He let out a half-hearted laugh. “I was wrong.” Dejan squeezed Šime’s hand and said, “I’m sorry I don’t want you to say anything that you don’t want to, but it would help if you told me what this discovery of yours was about.”  
That was the question Šime had been so afraid of. It was all or nothing, Dejan could reject him and be done with for good or prove himself to be accepting and even a better person than he already was. Still the thought of saying it aloud brought tears to Šime’s eyes, which Dejan, of course, saw. He immediately put his arm around Šime’s shoulders. “Hey, look at me.” he lifted Šime’s chin with his hand. “It's gonna be alright. I’m sure there’s nothing you could say that would make me think any less of you.” he said lovingly, gazing into Šime’s watery eyes. Oh, Dejan if that only were true, Šime thought.

“I”, Šime took a deep breath, letting a tear spill from his eye. “I, I am – I discovered that- “he took another breath, just get it out goddamnit, he thought to himself “I like men, romantically.” Šime blurted out, causing him to blush and sob, though he wasn’t quite sure how he managed that. 

Šime had never been so afraid of rejection in his life, what would he do? How would Dejan react? Would he be disgusted? A million questions came to his mind but none of them mattered when Dejan pulled him into a hug. Šime laughed, a genuine laugh, born from happiness, for the first time in month. He hugged Dejan tightly, and Dejan held him close in return. It felt so good to be accepted for once. Šime smiled, breathing in Dejan’s scent, gradually letting him go. Dejan smiled at him and Šime smiled back. “It’s alright.” Dejan said and Šime let out the air he had been holding in. “I told you that I wouldn’t leave that easily.” 

Šime continued. “Well, I told her, and she was- well how do you say? Absolutely disgusted and threatened to divorce me if I didn’t change, so much for loving wife, huh?” Dejan took Šime’s hand again and held it tightly. “So, I went to church, I needed guidance and where else could I, a good Christian” and this he said with so much bitterness and sarcasm in his voice “and it went as well as you’d expect. He told me I was sick and needed to come back to the right path, unless I wanted to burn in hell. Additionally, he thought it was right to inform my parents and the whole town.” Šime sounded so heartbroken that it made Dejan’s heart ache. If he were there he’d have beaten the shit out of the priest. How could he dare to treat his friend like this? While Dejan was absorbed in his thoughts, Šime resumed. “And then my wife left me, unable to bear the burden of a bisexual husband. My parents kicked me out, the townspeople loathed me. I’m glad that the news didn’t make it to the press. I would have died.” Šime said with such a miserable tone. “So, I left, went to the city, completely broken and emotionally dead. I couldn’t cope and that’s when someone approached me and gave me a kit. I didn’t know what to do so I tried it, big mistake by the way. But I figured it would be better to feel nothing than to feel bad. I couldn’t stop it, so I kept doing it. I felt like trash, unworthy of anyone’s attention, vile and disgusting and that’s why I’ve been so distant. I didn’t want to bother you with my presence, I guess.” Šime finished.

Dejan felt revolted. How could anyone make such a good and pure being as his friend feel so terribly bad about himself? He wanted to beat them and turn back time, be there for his friend, make him feel safe. The story made Dejan cry, he admitted, seeing Šime so broken and abandoned, it made his insides twist. He wiped away the tears that had gathered in the corner of his eyes, looking at Šime again, their hands still joined in front of them. “You are one of the best men I know, and you could never bother me with your presence. Not even if it were 3 A.M and you were dressed in a carrot costume, banging pots together in front pf my bed.” He brought Šime’s hand up to his face and put a gentle kiss on it, making Šime _smile _again.__

____

____

Šime felt as if a million tons had just been lifted off of his chest. He could breathe again. He was _accepted _for who he was. Maybe it wasn’t important to the story that falling in love with Dejan has brought him here, and maybe Dejan could love him, Šime still loved him, and maybe they could have a future together. But right now, it all didn’t matter. They were together at last, joined in understanding and there was nothing better than this moment. Šime wanted to freeze it and live in it forever.__

____

____

To Dejan it wasn’t important whether Šime preferred men or women. In fact, he didn’t care. He spoke the truth from deep inside his heart with sincerity. 

“It doesn’t matter anymore, and it never will again. Nothing could ever make me love you any less, _love. _”__

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! Leave a comment if you want! :) Also should I continue it?


End file.
